


a dream lies buried here

by a_matter_of_loyalty



Category: Code Geass
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, C.C. Has A Heart, F/M, Grief/Mourning, One Shot, Some Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:48:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25128022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_matter_of_loyalty/pseuds/a_matter_of_loyalty
Summary: There are six different coffins dedicated to Lelouch, buried in six separate plots.C.C. counts them on her fingers.Alternatively: Five locations the world suspects Lelouch is buried in, and the one grave that really does hold his body.
Relationships: C.C./Lelouch Lamperouge | Lelouch vi Britannia, Jeremiah Gottwald & Lelouch Lamperouge | Lelouch vi Britannia, Jeremiah Gottwald & Shinozaki Sayoko, Kururugi Suzaku & Lelouch Lamperouge | Lelouch vi Britannia, Lelouch Lamperouge | Lelouch vi Britannia & Shinozaki Sayoko, Nunnally vi Britannia & C.C., Nunnally vi Britannia & Lelouch Lamperouge | Lelouch vi Britannia, Nunnally vi Britannia & Shinozaki Sayoko
Comments: 7
Kudos: 95





	a dream lies buried here

_1._

Here lies Lelouch vi Britannia. Eleventh Prince of the Holy Empire of Britannia. Seventeenth in line to the throne. Child prodigy.

From the day he was born, Lelouch lived a life of luxury. He had everything he could ever want at his fingertips.

But despite it all, Lelouch didn’t count himself lucky. Where he owned material possessions, he lacked individuality, identity, purpose.

Lelouch vi Britannia was a puppet, and he knew it. He was many other things, too, but first and foremost, he was a puppet.

He signed away his free will long before he even knew what free will was.

( _“You are my son, but before that you are a prince, and you will act as such. Your allegiance belongs first and foremost to the throne, and then to the people. You will serve Britannia so long as you live.”_

_“Yes, father.”_

_“‘Father’?”_

_“Sorry, Your Majesty. It won’t happen again.”_ )

He was taught to obey from the day he was born. He learned the importance of duty, and of deference. His strings were pulled by his father, by his mother, by the superior royals, and by the court.

His only purpose was to uphold his father’s word. His life held no meaning.

His death, too, held no meaning.

The day he and his sister were sent into exile, his father covered it up and released a statement announcing the vi Britannia children’s death.

The funeral was held on a sunny Tuesday. The only ones who cried for the lost siblings were their sisters Euphemia and Cornelia li Britannia, and their brother Clovis la Britannia. Not even Schneizel shed a tear, too busy trying to maintain a facade of calm in front of his judgmental father.

Two empty coffins were buried beside their mother’s, and that was that.

Here lies Lelouch vi Britannia. Prince, heir, genius, brother. (Son.)

_2._

Here lies Lelouch Lamperouge. He was only ever a student, a simple schoolboy, but he was loved.

When he was presumed dead, dozens of his friends and classmates came together and wept beneath the starry skies.

He was nothing compared to a prince.

But he lived a happy life—and not even the prince could claim that.

Lelouch Lamperouge had no regrets.

:::

“I can’t believe he’s really dead,” Rivalz whispers, his voice as quiet as the shadow. “I mean, how unlucky can we get?”

Milly doesn’t rise to the bait. She glares at him, harsh, and wonders why the scene of Lelouch’s coffin being lowered into the ground feels so familiar.

What is she missing?

She doesn’t have long to ponder the question, because Rivalz continues on, joking weakly, “First Shirley, and now Lelouch? Maybe we’re being targeted.”

“Don’t be tasteless,” Milly chides, at the same time as Nina points out, “But Shirley’s death was a suicide.”

“ _Enough_ , both of you,” Milly hisses. “Pay your respects. Lelouch was—“ she trails off abruptly then, her brows knitting in confusion.

How is she supposed to finish that?

_Lelouch was what?_ she asks herself, biting her lip. _He was our classmate, and a fellow member of the Student Council, but..._

What is she missing? she wonders again.

She’s missing _something,_ some crucial piece of the puzzle.

What is it?

Milly frowns. When she thinks too hard on it, a pounding headache interrupts her train of thought and she flinches, closing her eyes. Through the spikes of pain, Milly catches fleeting glimpses of vivid purple eyes bright with joy, deft hands moving chess pieces across a chessboard, and a boy who laughed too much.

She tries to close her fingers around the vision, around the distant, phantom feeling of light and warmth and sunshine, and nearly cries out in frustration when it evades her grasp.

The picture of the boy fades, his too-cheery eyes and his too-wide smile and his too-excited voice hiding themselves in a dark corner of her mind, where everything is black and muted and lost.

Milly misses Lelouch like she might miss an amputated limb. She misses him with every fiber of her being, and it has nothing to do with the coffin in the earth and the cold slab of stone left above ground.

(As if his name and the years he was alive and a few meaningless descriptors could ever make up for the empty space he left in his wake.)

She misses him, and it isn’t because he’s dead. She knows that, because she _has_ _been_ missing him for _months_ now, ever since the aftermath of the Black Rebellion. She was missing him even when he was still _right there_.

( _“I don’t understand,” Milly says, taken aback, blinking once as if the next time she opens her eyes, it will be to a different situation._

_But nothing changes: Ruben is still standing in front of her, a somber look in his eyes, and Milly knows without asking that the same words are still hanging in the air between them._

_“What do you mean, you don’t understand?” Ruben appears just as confused, as though she is the one who’s lost her mind in all of this._

_And she_ hasn’t _lost her mind—it’s not her fault that she doesn’t know why on earth Lelouch Lamperouge would ever be buried in their family plot._

_“Why?” she demands. “He’s just a friend from school.” And, granted, Lelouch has always been a great friend, and Milly is still reeling from the news of his death, but it doesn’t warrant this._

_It doesn’t warrant the dark circles beneath her grandfather’s eyes, like he hasn’t slept for days on end. It doesn’t warrant the pinched look on his face, like he’s trying not to cry. It doesn’t warrant the haunted look in his eyes, like the world has just ended._

_She hates to think it, but there are more important things going on in the world right now, after all—such as the Battle of Damocles, waged between the opposing forces of Prince Schneizel of Britannia and Zero of the Black Knights, and Zero’s subsequent disappearance, inciting chaos and mutiny all around the world._

_Milly still needs to write her report on that. She was, in fact, in the middle of doing so when Ruben called her and told her, voice stuttering the way it does when he’s trying not to fall apart, that Lelouch Lamperouge, her Vice-President before she graduated, is dead. At Ruben’s insistence, Milly put her work on pause and took the soonest flight back to Area 11._

_She wants to point this out to her grandfather; she wants to remind him that no matter how great an impact Lelouch Lamperouge left on their lives, they cannot afford to stop moving with the rest of the world._

_But there is something about the sorrow in Ruben’s eyes that silences her._

_So when Ruben grits his teeth and reiterates, “I’ve already arranged for Lelouch to be buried there, so I’d appreciate it if you’d stop asking questions,” Milly bites her tongue and says nothing._

_She still doesn’t understand. To her grandfather, Lelouch Lamperouge should just be another student, after all._

_But for some reason, that doesn’t seem to be the case.)_

“Lelouch was our friend,” she finally finishes after a moment of hesitation, shaking her head to clear the indecision. It‘s nowhere near enough—it hardly encompasses everything Lelouch meant to them—but... but her memories of Lelouch are muddled and unclear, and every time she tries to focus on him, she only loses more. “He deserves at least that.”

She still feels like it’s unworthy of Lelouch, like it doesn’t properly explain who he was, but when she tries to say more, her words are gone, stuck in her throat.

Nina snaps her jaw shut and flushes, chagrined.

Rivalz chokes on a quiet protest, looking away painfully. The way Milly says it— _Lelouch was our friend—_ makes it sound so simple, so cut and dry.

And it’s true, of course it’s true. Lelouch _was_ their friend.

But he was a lot more, too.

Lelouch was the one who stepped in and stood up for Rivalz when Rivalz had no one else. He had been the first student to befriend Rivalz willingly. He defended Rivalz to bullies without hesitation. He became Rivalz’s confidant whenever Rivalz had a bad day.

Lelouch had always been ready to just _sit there_ and listen to Rivalz rant or cry or gossip.

Lelouch loved pranking their fellow Student Council members with Rivalz, even if it meant inciting Milly’s infamous wrath.

Lelouch had spent a single afternoon listening to Rivalz whine about his money problems before immediately coming up with a solution, inviting Rivalz to his chess matches and giving Rivalz a much bigger cut than he honestly deserved.

Lelouch had never been afraid to support Rivalz, whatever that meant. Lelouch was the one who’d always stood by Rivalz, through all of his stupid decisions and terrible mistakes.

Lelouch wasn’t just his friend. He was Rivalz’s wingman, brother, protector, and partner-in-crime.

And now he has nothing left of Lelouch except for the grave in front of him, Lelouch’s favorite peonies and tulips, and the scattered memories he is desperately holding on to.

:::

Lelouch was never Nina’s favorite person.

The first time she met him, she took one look at the knowledge in his eyes and the stuck-up smirk on his face and decided she didn’t like him.

When he was inducted into the Student Council as the Vice-President shortly after, Nina begrudgingly resolved to get to know him better, reasoning that Milly wouldn’t choose someone who didn’t deserve the position.

But no matter how many chances Nina gave him, Nina couldn’t find it in herself to like Lelouch. He was arrogant, conceited, and lazy—all the worst traits.

Everyday they spent together with the rest of the Student Council, Lelouch only continued to prove her suspicions correct. Lelouch was a know-it-all who didn’t seem to care about anything at all—he constantly gave little to no effort, slacking in his academics and in the Student Council.

Nina hated him.

Or, at least, she used to—until several months ago, after a particularly devastating attack by Zero on the Tokyo Settlement.

_Nina‘s been cooping herself up in the Student Council meeting room since news of the attack blared through the radios, trying to immerse herself in her studies and her research to stave off her panic about Zero’s growing influence in the nation._

_Hours later, she‘s startled back into reality when Lelouch slips into the meeting room quietly, carrying a stack of files under his arm. When he notices her, Lelouch nods at her and murmurs a quiet ‘hello’ before setting the files down on the desk._

_Nina tries to smile back, but something in her expression must alert Lelouch to her unease, because he drops all pretenses and hurries to her side._

_And they aren’t friends, but that doesn’t stop Lelouch from sinking to his knees beside her and whispering, “You okay?” His voice is hushed, as though he doesn’t dare disturb the silence that has settled in the room._

_Nina swallows tightly. Even after all this time they’ve been together on the Student Council, she barely knows him. She would never call them friends._

_And she certainly doesn’t trust him._

_So she can’t quite explain what makes her answer him: “Zero.”_

_Lelouch hears the anxiety in her voice, knows what she’s taking about, and his face falls. She doesn’t understand why, and she doesn’t have the chance to question it, either, because he smooths out his expression in an instant and urges her off her stiff chair._

_Nina rises to her feet instantly, feeling caught by the open, earnest look in his eyes. Maybe it’s that clear vulnerability he expresses, or maybe it’s the exhaustion wired in her bones, but she lets him drag her to the comfortable sofa stretched against the side wall. They both flop down into the cushions, and Lelouch drapes a thin blanket (left behind by Shirley, most likely) over Nina’s shoulders._

_“Tell me about your research,” Lelouch requests, his voice a mere whisper in the dark._

_Nina blinks. But she doesn’t question it, appreciating the reprieve from her dark thoughts. A passionate grin lights up her face as she dives into her response, and Nina is surprised to find an answering avid interest painted on Lelouch’s expression._

_She has always known he’s smart, but she’s never truly seen his brain at work. That evening, under the dim, flickering lights of the meeting room, Nina finally realizes the genius that lies beneath Lelouch’s surface._

_No one has ever been able to keep up with her. Over the years, it’s made Nina feel like an outcast in her own school._

_But Lelouch can. Lelouch matches her own intellect stride for stride. And he does it with an easy smile on his face._

_It leaves Nina in awe._

_Together, as the hours tick away, they delve into the models and concepts explored in the sciences. They spend the night exchanging ideas and laughing at each other’s silly theories, eyes bright with intelligence._

_By the time the sun disappears over the horizon, and the moon takes its place up in the sky, Nina has long forgotten her worries about Zero and the threat he poses. Lelouch seems to sense her newly relaxed state, because he squeezes her shoulder reassuringly and stands with a yawn._

_“Goodnight, Nina,” he breathes into the silence._

_As he crosses the room in long strides, he glances over his shoulder and spares her one last look, a gentle smile on his face. She smiles back gratefully, a thousand unspoken words passing between them._

_She waits until his footsteps have receded into the distance before heading to Milly’s desk, peering curiously down at the files Lelouch dropped off. Her eyes widen—the papers neatly outline an entirely new and improved budget plan, carefully and thoroughly detailing all of the clubs the school endorses._

_Nina thinks back to every single time she saw Lelouch drop his head into his arms and nod off during a meeting, and decides she is in desperate need of an adjustment in her opinion of Lelouch Lamperouge._

_Perhaps he isn’t quite what he’s made himself out to be after all._

_So if, the next time a council meeting rolls around, Nina spends half the time smiling privately at Lelouch, cutting him a lot more slack than she normally would when the time comes for them to divide up the workload, no one needs to know._

No, Lelouch has never been Nina’s favorite person. He presented himself as a terrible slacker and procrastinator, and he was too smug for his own good. He directed more effort into his illegal chess matches than to his schoolwork, and she could never approve of his gambling.

But Lelouch, flawed as he was, had also been the only one to notice her fears. And where others might have shied away or ignored it, he instead tried to comfort her.

Lelouch made her smile and laugh in a time where joy didn’t even seem possible.

He wasn’t perfect, not by any means. But unlikely as it seems now, and contrary to what everyone else has always believed, they had been friends.

Nina never thought it could be possible, but sitting here alongside their classmates, huddled in a sea of black, black, _black_ , Nina knows she misses him too much.

:::

Here lies Lelouch Lamperouge. (Un)motivated student, devoted brother, and thoughtful friend.

_3._

Here lies Zero. The fearless commander of the Black Knights Organization, the strategist responsible for turning the tides of seemingly impossibly battles, the harbinger of the Japanese revolution. The Man of Miracles himself.

But to the Black Knights themselves, Zero was much more than a general. He was a leader, too—and that made all the difference.

Because Zero _cared._ Most would scoff at the idea, but the Black Knights know it to be true.

Zero cared about more than just his goal, his vision. He cared about his people. He cared, maybe too much, about everything.

And it was this trait in him that cost him his life, Kallen thinks. Everyone else is blinded by their newfound hatred of him, by the betrayal that runs through their veins and that has taken over all else, but Kallen isn’t.

She hasn’t stuck her head in the clouds, not yet. She can _see._

She _knows_ he cared—about all of the Black Knights, but also about _her._ She can think clearly enough, now, to see that he had only been trying to protect her.

Initially she’d felt devastated by his rejection, and just as betrayed as everyone else, but now, looking back on it, she can remember the strain in Zero’s voice, the stiffness of his movements, the _apology._ She can remember the regret.

Zero was _always_ protecting her. He might have lied to her and pushed her away—but he did so for her own sake. He did so because he knew she would turn against every single one of her friends for him if given the choice, and he didn’t want her to do that, so he went ahead and made her choice for her.

And like a fool, she let him play her. She let _herself_ believe in his facade of cruelty, of tyranny.

It cost Zero his life.

Kallen closes her eyes in defeat. _She_ cost Zero his life. There’s no use sugarcoating it. She knows the truth, after all.

_But,_ she adds after a moment, clutching onto the last semblance of _Zero_ left, _I will not cost him his legacy._

Resolve cements in her heart, and Kallen rises to her feet, striding down the halls to the council room, where she knows the High Council of the Black Knights lounge. She wonders, for a moment, if they even still deserve that title, because the council was designed to be Zero’s inner circle, filled with Zero’s closest and most trusted confidants.

How ironic, that that same council be the one to kill him.

Kallen presses her lips together, frustrated by the errant thought that slipped into her mind. Because the truth is, they failed him.

_We were designed to protect him, and we betrayed him._

A spark of anger setting off a fire in her eyes, Kallen slams the door to the council room open. She makes her way to the center in four long strides, immediately drawing the attention of the assembled Black Knights. There’s Ohgi, there’s Todoh, there’s even Chiba and Rakshata, all sitting comfortably on _Zero’s_ couches as though they didn’t play a hand in his demise. (Li Xingke and Tianzi and Kaguya are still holed up in the UFN, blissfully unaware of the treachery of their brothers-in-arms.)

It infuriates something deep inside of her.

“Zero was our leader,” she snarls, powerful and resolute, unwavering in the face of their instinctive frowns and protests. She silences them with a glare so deadly even Todoh flinches.

“He was our leader,” she reiterates. “Prince Schneizel may have convinced us to see him as a traitor, but before that, we all would have died for him. Because he made all of _this_ possible.”

“Kallen,” Ohgi says sharply, gritting his teeth so hard Kallen can see the strain on his face. “Zero fooled us all. He lied to us, every minute of every day.”

“He _saved_ us!” she shouts. She doesn’t know how he can’t _see_ it. “He was trying to save Japan! We owe him _everything_!”

“We owe him _nothing_ ,” Chiba growls.

Kallen is hit with the overwhelming urge to rip Chiba’s face off. “Turn on the TV,” she challenges. “And all you’ll see is dozens and dozens of Japanese flocking to Zero’s memorial, laying down flowers and fruits and cards because _he was their hero._ He was ours, too.” _He was mine. In some ways, he still is._ “They’re all grieving for him, because in their eyes, he was a beacon of light. Of hope. Because for the first time in seven years, freedom suddenly seemed possible to them. We owe _that_ to Zero.”

“All of that hope is founded on a lie,” Ohgi snaps. “Don’t let yourself be blinded, Kallen.”

“I’m not the one who’s blind!” she roars. She’s so _angry._ She doesn’t think she’s ever been this angry before. “Zero is _gone,_ and none of you even have the common decency to pay your respects.”

Ohgi’s face is stony. Kallen sees nothing there—no realization, no sympathy, no sadness.

Kallen shakes her head and turns away. Ohgi blames Zero for putting on a mask and deceiving them all, but Kallen looks at the ice in his expression and thinks that Ohgi’s the one who’s changed.

Zero never did. His face—his identity—may have been revealed, but his dreams never changed.

“He’s gone,” Kallen whispers, voice hushed and thick with reality. “Please, set your anger aside and give him this moment—if not for Zero’s sake than for the Black Knights. For Japan.”

Ohgi’s brows furrow, his lips twisting into a scowl, but before he can protest, Todoh stands and says, quiet and solemn, “She’s right.”

Ohgi sputters in shock. Chiba, too, leaps to her feet and stares at Todoh in a mixture of confusion and annoyance.

Todoh ignores them both. “In the wake of his death, Zero deserves at least that.”

“But Todoh—“

Chiba’s protest falls on deaf ears as Todoh cuts her off swiftly, “At the very least, we can remember him for what he’s done, for the changes he’s brought about.”

Something about Todoh’s words strike Kallen in her chest, hard. _What he’s done._ Because Zero’s done _so much_ for them, and they tossed it all away like it meant nothing. Because Zero is Britannian, and still he took on his mantle and waged a war he had no obligation to join.

Because Zero wasn’t duty-bound to fight for Japan. But still he did so.

He upheld their cause simply because he believed in it. More than ever, Kallen wishes she could have believed in _him._

:::

Together, the high council of the Black Knights enter the mess hall, all standing side-by-side and as a united front. They always present themselves as one to the other Black Knights—no one needs to know that behind closed doors, Ohgi fought against this decision tooth and nail, and Chiba joined in, screaming until her throat was hoarse and insisting this is all a mistake.

No one needs to know that half of their highest-ranked members despise their fallen general.

“Black Knights!” Todoh calls, his voice carrying enough authority even over the chatter and racket of the others. “Zero is no longer with us.”

With a single sentence, Todoh stills every single member of the Black Knights. Because until now, it was all speculation.

“In his honor, we will be hosting a feast,” Todoh continues. “And tonight, we invite you all to join us by the Wall to leave your prayers with Zero.”

There are questions, whispers, tears. Kallen ignores them all, her heart gripped by the finality of this moment.

The Wall was an idea thought up by Zero after their first major battle. On the Wall is inscribed the names of all of their fallen soldiers, with the surviving Black Knights’ thoughts and prayers scrawled alongside.

When Zero first came to them to announce those plans, Kallen locked herself in her room and cried for hours. She didn’t leave her room until the dead of night, when no one else was around and she could walk up to the Wall alone.

Except she hadn’t been alone.

_“Zero?” His name leaves her mouth before she can silence herself and walk away._

_Zero doesn’t react, not immediately. He’s standing quietly in front of the Wall, head bowed and hands fisted at his sides._

_It isn’t until a few minutes later that he finally lifts his head and turns to look at her. She can’t see his face—she doesn’t even know what he looks like—but she sees the somber hunch of his shoulders and imagines that a small, sad smile is playing on his lips._

_“Hello, Kallen,” he greets quietly, his voice soft and reverent, quivering like he’s been crying._

_Zero is usually dignified, regal, majestic even. But tonight, he doesn’t try to hide his humanity. His vulnerability. It leaves her in awe._

_“Zero,” she whispers again, his title on her tongue like the name of a God. “Should I—do you want to be alone?” she asks hesitantly._

_At first, it looks like he’s going to nod and bid her go away. But a stuttered moment passes, and he shakes his head. “No,” he says. “Kallen, you’re my Q1. We are comrades in battle. We can be comrades in mourning, too.”_

_It sounds so simple, so... Zero. But it brings tears to her eyes._

_The first reply that comes to her mind is: ‘You have no idea who I am.’_

_The second isn’t much better—she thinks to tell him, ‘Don’t pretend we know each other at all.’_

_But in the end, what leaves her mouth is a strangled sob. “Okay,” she says through her veil of sadness, “okay.”_

_She approaches him then, silent on her feet, and realizes for the first time how similar in height they are. Zero’s always seemed so untouchable on the battlefield—so powerful and tall and unreachable._

_Indomitable._

_Here, now, she finally understands that Zero is just like her—someone who’s lost too much to a war that should never have been necessary._

_Zero’s human._

_It’s a fact that stuns her, because though she’s known it from the start, she’s never truly acknowledged it._

_But tonight... “Who do you grieve?” she asks him._

_Zero doesn’t answer her for the longest time. Kallen almost thinks he won’t answer her at all. But finally, before she can apologize for prying, he shakes his head and clears his thoughts, and says, “My family. My best friend.”_

_“I’m sorry.”_

_The sad smile she envisions on Zero’s face twists, becoming wry and bitter. “Don’t be,” he says._

_Kallen can’t stand the wrecked sound of Zero’s voice. She stands there beside him and she yearns to lift the weight from his shoulders, to save him as he always saves them._

_“I lost my brother,” she says before she even knows her mouth is open. She almost regrets it, but when Zero turns to her, surprised by her opening up to him, she decides to forge ahead. At the very least, she can distract him from his own pain. “Naoto. He was... he was a lot like you, actually. I think you two would have gotten along like a house on fire.”_

_“I wish I could have met him.” The thing is, Zero sounds so earnest, so genuine and sincere. It makes Kallen want to cry all over again. “He sounds like a great man.”_

_She nods tearfully. “He was.”_

_So are you, she thinks._

_They stand together like that, in the sort of silence that is less stifling and more comfortable, more natural, until the sun rises and the first whispers of noise seep into their ears._

_Zero straightens at once, the vulnerable man disappearing behind a facade of strength and greatness, and Kallen lets him._

_He spares her one last look and an acknowledging nod that speaks more than words, and walks away._

_Kallen watches him go. For days afterwards, all she can do is watch him, remembering the sadness of a man who bears so great a tragedy in silence._

_She never dares bring it up to him, never mentions the anguish she heard in his voice or the despair she knows he feels for his lost family and friend._

_So they never speak of it again, but that doesn’t mean she forgets. Because Kallen_ never _forgets._

(She doesn’t learn until much, much later, however, that he lost his best friend not to death but to difference of opinion—that he blames himself for alienating Suzaku and choosing an alternate path. And it isn’t until even _later_ that she learns who his family was; that he lost them even before the war, to his father’s greed and tyranny.)

:::

The Wall looks exactly as it did all those months ago. It exists on the Ikaruga now, thanks to Lelouch’s hard work and his endless efforts to uproot the entire Wall from their original headquarters and bring it onto the Black Knights’ flagship.

Except it isn’t the same at all. It’s so different—because this time, Zero isn’t here to stand beside her, to lift her up with his mere presence and keep her afloat in her sea of grief.

She spots Naoto’s name instantly.

_Naoto Kouzuki._ Her handwriting is shaky, messy on the concrete surface. _I swear to keep fighting for your dream, no matter what. One day, Japan will be free, and you can finally rest in peace with the knowledge that we won. I won’t let you down. I love you, Naoto._

Kallen looks away and tries not to cry. _I’m sorry, Naoto,_ she thinks. _I lied. We lost Zero, and we might as well have lost the war already, too._

A hand on her shoulder brings her back to reality. She looks to the side to find Rakshata smiling gently down at her, unusual of the ordinarily tough, brash woman.

“You were right,” Rakshata murmurs. “No matter how many call him a vigilante, Zero was a hero to many. He deserves at least our gratitude.”

Kallen nods. _He was more than just that. He was so many things. A hero, yes. But also a leader, a friend, someone I could count on._

She makes up her mind and steps forward, bending down and wrapping her fingers around one of the many available knives. She flips the blade around in her grip so she has the best angle, and begins to etch onto the Wall, characters big and clear and proud:

_Zero. Thank you for being there for me when Naoto couldn’t. I am honored to have been a part of your movement._

Her words will never be able to fully capture the extent of what Zero meant to her, to Japan, but they are a start, and for now, that’s enough.

That _has_ to be enough.

All around her, she sees the name _Zero_ being written over and over again.

_Zero, you saved my life._

_Dear Zero, thank you for believing in me when no one else did._

_I never believed freedom was possible until you came. Thank you, Zero._

_The Black Knights have become a home to me, a family. This is all because of you. Wherever you are, Zero, thank you._

_Zero, I lived in the Shinjuku Ghetto before the Massacre. Brit soldiers were already knocking on my door when Clovis’s ceasefire came through. I know now that that is because of you. You saved my sister and I. I will never forget that._

_To Zero, you showed me that we could win, and that the Britannians are not unbeatable. You gave me hope._

_You aren’t who I thought you were, Zero. But... that doesn’t change what you’ve done. So thank you._

Kallen spends hours reading every single message addressed to Zero. They all do.

“Kallen,” Ohgi calls out. Kallen stiffens, but hesitantly turns around. Much to her surprise, his irritation is gone. He offers her a small smile. “This was a good idea. We... we needed this.”

Kallen looks around at everyone, at all the smiles and tears and laughter being exchanged at every turn.

“Yeah,” she says softly, her lips curving into a small smile. For the first time since Zero’s disappearance, it feels real. “This _was_ a good idea.”

:::

The Black Knights don’t bury Zero, not in the traditional sense. Partly because they never recover a body, but mostly because the mask of Zero was intended to be an ideal, a legend.

Zero was supposed to always be there—a symbol that never dies.

So they don’t bury Zero. Instead, they pour all of their memories of Zero into the Wall of the Black Knights, and then they pick themselves up and soldier on.

It’s what Zero would have wanted, after all.

(What _Kaguya_ does, however, is a different story. The minute she finds out that all they dedicated to Zero’s death is notes on the Wall, she shakes her head and promptly orders a coffin to be shipped in from land. There is no earth to bury the coffin in, so instead Kaguya arranges a pedestal in front of the Wall, and they leave it up there for all to honor.)

:::

Here lies Zero. Miracle-maker, genius strategist, and vigilante (read: _hero_ ).

:::

(A month later, Zero will be reborn in the form of Lelouch vi Britannia smirking at them from upon his father’s throne through a patchy video feed, but for now, the Black Knights grieve.)

_4._

Here lies the Demon Emperor. A monster who sits upon a golden throne, the crown that rests on his head forged from sin.

When he finally falls, crimson blood spilling from the hole in his chest (wide and gaping to match the emptiness of his heart, some would say), the world doesn’t stop to grieve.

The world doesn’t stop at all.

Instead, his subjects see him take his last breath, and they all breathe a collective sigh of relief. They turn their faces to the sky and murmur words of grateful prayer, because the moment the Demon Emperor dies is one they all celebrate.

No one cared about him when he was alive, and no one cares now that he is dead.

He alienated too many people with his cruelty, with every vicious flick of his wrist that brought on the deaths of hundreds upon thousands.

Evil, people say, is the greatest cause of loneliness.

By now, even his siblings are so far removed from his life.

Cornelia, one of his closest sisters before his fall to Lelouch Lamperouge and his rise to the ruthless emperor, comes running from the shadows with a triumphant cry: “Lelouch, the Demon, is dead!”

The sun is shining, the sky is blue, the people are happy.

No one sheds a tear for the cooling corpse that was once the 99th Emperor of Britannia.

No one, it seems, but his sister, who cradles his hand—slick with blood and death—to her face and weeps. She weeps for the brother she lost, and she weeps for the man he became; a man so barbaric that even in death, all people can do is hate him.

She weeps because that is all she has left.

Looming above the siblings, Zero pauses to take in the damage. He cries, too—but not for the Demon Emperor.

Because Suzaku cries for the best friend that lies beneath the mask of the demon.

_Lelouch,_ he thinks. His old friend’s name is a sad, weary sound that scratches the walls of his mind. _You really bring a new meaning to the saying, “You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain,” don’t you?_

Suzaku doesn’t know why he’s so surprised. Lelouch never did anything halfway, after all.

And he vowed to bring change long ago.

Suzaku turns away from his friend— _no,_ his _enemy_ , Lelouch can only be his enemy, now—and shutters himself off to the identity of Suzaku Kururugi.

(Lelouch sacrificed his life. In a way, Suzaku sacrificed his, too. They all had to make their sacrifices to get here.)

“Citizens of Britannia!” _Zero_ thunders, loud and forceful above the clamor of the people. “Citizens of the world!”

He is not Suzaku anymore. He is simply Zero.

There is no room for grief here. The Demon Emperor is not Zero’s friend.

:::

The people hate the Demon Emperor, but they love Princess Nunnally. They take one look at her, draped over his body with her eyes still wet, and walk away.

They can come back for his body later. They have time.

For now, they all have their own families to get back to.

:::

Five hours later, Princess Cornelia li Britannia releases the location of the Demon Emperor’s burial site to the public.

:::

C.C. clutches desperately onto the Cheese-kun doll Lelouch once bought for her, soft artificial fur pressing against her chest. Stray tears roll off her face, landing quietly on her doll.

Eyes fixated unblinkingly on the television screen, watching numbly as crowds of protestors begin to gather around her partner’s gravesite, hurling words of profanity and unboiled eggs at the headstone (and the towering marble monument standing beside it) in growing rage, C.C. can feel herself start to tremble.

Everyone else hates Lelouch vi Britannia. They all see him as a cruel king, as unjust and immoral, as heartless and demonic, but she...

She loved him. ( _Loves_ him, because she is immortal and thus her love is eternal, even though he has already perished. Not even death can take this—her love—from her.)

_”Long live Zero! Down with the Demon!”_

C.C. feels her Cheese-kun doll break and tear, giving way to her sharp, vengeful nails.

:::

The monument and the grave are both _completely_ covered with tomatoes, rotten eggs, and other various foods before the hour is even up.

But there are also the messages. Those are the worst—dozens upon dozens of handwritten notes describing, in painstaking detail, all of the ways the Demon Emperor ruined the people’s lives.

When Nunnally hears what happened from the news, when she hears what remains of _her brother’s_ final resting place, Nunnally locks herself in her room and cries.

:::

Nunnally doesn’t leave her room until two days later. Her eyes are red and her voice is dry when she rolls herself to the kitchen and announces, “I want to hear what was written on the notes,” able to distinguish Sayoko’s silent presence in front of her without a single noise.

There is a long, obvious pause. Even without her eyesight, Nunnally can tell Sayoko is frowning. “Are you sure?”

Nunnally nods, more bravely than she feels. “I’m sure.”

Sayoko closes her eyes in regret, but she does as is asked—she knows that, if she were in Nunnally’s shoes, she would have wanted to know, too.

Sayoko quietly drags a chair to Nunnally’s side and pulls out a folder of little notes.

The two stay out in the kitchen until well into the night, Nunnally’s shoulders shaking to the meter of Sayoko’s speech.

> _My daughter is dead because of you, Demon. She was nine years old, and she loved puppies._

_…_

> _Everything in my life now either comes before or after you. Before you, I had a wife and three children to come home to. Now, all I have is the television, broadcasting newspiece after newspiece of you, reminding me of the family I lost. I used to drink myself stupid every time I saw your face on the news. Until last night, when the newsanchor said you had died. I’d never been more relieved. Now you won’t get the chance to hurt anyone else the way you hurt me._

…

> _I fought with my brother everyday he was alive. He always made me so angry. Our parents used to joke that it was his talent to annoy me, and my talent to annoy him. But losing him to your soldiers—that made me angrier than he ever did._

_…_

> _Your army burned my house down, with my wife and dog still inside. In a single night, I lost everything because of you. You might be dead, but I will never forgive you for that._

_…_

> _My son was walking home from school when your men gunned him and his best friend down. My child was exactly that—just a child, you monster. They were both only children, but you didn’t care, did you?_
> 
> _You might not have pulled the trigger, but I blame you. I just don’t understand. How can anyone be so cruel?_

:::

“No one has tried to dig up the Demon’s grave yet, but from what we’ve seen, I imagine it won’t be long until that happens.”

Over the phone, Cornelia listens to Guilford’s report with an impassive look on her face. A (big) part of her wants to smile, to know that Euphie has finally, _finally_ been avenged with Lelouch’s death.

But another part of her can only feel sadness—for Euphie (who died at the hands of someone she _trusted_ ), for Marianne (who thought she raised a hero), for herself, and, inexplicably, even for Lelouch.

As emperor, Lelouch was a monster. But before that, as her _brother…_ Cornelia had loved him.

Some nights, she lies restlessly awake and stares blankly up at the ceiling, knowing that she _still_ loves him. Even after everything.

Cornelia sighs. “Thank you, Guilford,” she says, more curtly than she intends. She doesn’t quite know what to think.

She’s grown to hate Lelouch, but… not even a tyrant like Lelouch deserves to have his grave desecrated.

He is already dead, after all.

_God._

_Lelouch is really dead._

“Of course, Your Highness. How do you wish to procee—“

Cornelia pauses, tuning Guilford out when her ears catch wind of muffled cries. Her heart lurches to her throat. She’d recognize the sound of Nunnally’s sobs _anywhere._

“I’m going to have to call you back, Guilford,” Cornelia says sharply, hanging up and turning off her phone as she rounds the corner, only to come face-to-face with Nunnally crying in her wheelchair, curled up to Sayoko’s side.

Sayoko’s holding a small, plain card in her hands, her fingers gripping the edges so tightly they’re bending. Sayoko’s eyes flit up to meet Cornelia’s, and then dart to the floor, where a bunch of other cards are scattered near her feet. All the while, the measured sound of her voice as she reads out the card’s contents never wavers.

Cornelia’s breath catches in her throat. She knows _exactly_ what those cards are.

“Your Majesty,” Sayoko says, voice a hushed whisper, “my name is Tessa Evans. I turned thirteen last month. I was so excited for my party. My friends thought it was stupid, because I’m finally becoming a teenager and yet still I blow out my candles with my family singing happy birthday to me. But I didn’t care what they thought; I didn’t want a big festive party. I just couldn’t wait to eat my mom’s famous chocolate cake and open up all my presents. But there was no party in the end, because three days before my birthday, my parents both died. You see, Your Majesty, you’re the reason I understand what it means to be an orphan.”

Nunnally wails louder. Cornelia swallows thickly and turns away, pressing her back against the wall and sliding down to the floor, her eyes burning.

She pulls out her phone and sends Guilford a text: _Collect all of the new notes that have appeared, and then I want you to make an announcement. Lelouch vi Britannia’s grave is off-limits. I don’t care who complains._

She pauses, the sound of Nunnally’s sobs keeping her thoughts company all the while, and then adds— _Station as many trusted guards around the site as you have to. Just make sure the masses stay away._

It’s the least she can do.

:::

Here lies the Demon Emperor. Liar, liar, liar.

_5._

Here lies King Lelouch vi Britannia. Emperor of the Holy Empire, so compassionate and considerate to the plight of his subjects that he orchestrated his own murder for their sake.

King vi Britannia only ever knew one goal in life: to bring an end to the cycle of hatred, of death and destruction. And in death, he realized that selfsame goal.

But in doing so, he shrouded himself in darkness, forever doomed to live on in the people’s memories as only the Demon Emperor.

:::

”Your Highness,” Sayoko whispers into the thick, heavy silence. She knows it’s improper, but she can’t bring herself to say the title _Your Majesty._ A part of her still can’t believe Lelouch is truly dead.

In her mind, Lelouch will always be the rightful king, no matter who sits upon his throne or who wears his crown.

“Yes, Sayoko?” Nunnally asks, cocking her head in Sayoko’s direction. She doesn’t complain against Sayoko’s incorrect address, and Sayoko takes a moment to wonder if perhaps it’s because she feels the same suspended grief.

Sayoko hesitates, but only for a moment. She has a duty to attend to, even if at the moment it seems overshadowed by the stain of Lelouch’s death. “Cornelia is waiting to escort you to the ball, Your Highness.”

Nunnally’s face falls. “Right,” she murmurs, nauseous. “Right.”

Even though Nunnally is technically already the queen—the coronation was early this morning—she won’t be considered fully ‘initiated’ into the position until after the inaugural ball, held in her honor.

She’ll be expected to make a speech, say a few words.

Nunnally _knows_ this.

She also knows that she doesn’t want to say anything at all to the people, not when they believe she’ll condemn her brother and put him down.

Only a day after losing Lelouch, Nunnally doesn’t know if she can handle any more posturing.

Nunnally is well aware that the world won’t let her press pause to mourn, but _God_ she wishes things were different.

In this moment, all she wants is to be a normal girl, allowed to grieve and process and _break._ But because she is empress, she has to pick up the pieces and continue on with her life like none of it matters.

Like Lelouch hasn’t been her only family, her only _anything,_ since she was seven years old.

(Like his body hasn’t even finished cooling in his grave.)

“Your Highness—“

“Just give me a second,” Nunnally interrupts, voice hoarse with anguish. “Please, just—I need a second. The ball doesn’t start until late in the evening.”

Sayoko bows and exits the room, pretending she doesn’t hear the way Nunnally dissolves into sobs the second the door clicks shut.

_I’m sorry, Lelouch,_ Sayoko thinks. _I don’t know how to protect Nunnally. Not from this._

:::

That is how Jeremiah finds Sayoko thirty minutes later: standing guard in front of Nunnally’s door, the only sign of her regret the stiffness of her posture.

Jeremiah sighs. “Sayoko—“

“We need to tell her,” Sayoko interrupts.

Jeremiah freezes.

“She’s crying, Jeremiah,” Sayoko says, her voice strained, eyes darting back to the new empress’ closed door. “She’s supposed to hate him—that was the plan. But she’s _crying_ for him.”

Jeremiah looks away, his face twisting with guilt. “She can’t know,” he’s breathless with both uncertainty and certainty. “She _can’t_ know, Sayoko.”

Sayoko bites her lip. “Then we should at least tell her where his body is really buried,” she reasons. “God, you should have seen her when she heard how people were disrespecting his ‘grave’—she was _devastated,_ Jeremiah. I can’t be responsible for putting that look on her face. I _won’t_.”

“What do you propose we do, then?” Jeremiah snaps. “Risk everything we’ve worked for—risk everything Lelouch _died_ for—to bring the queen a sliver of comfort?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Sayoko’s voice is cutting. “Lelouch loved Nunnally with all his heart. What do you think he would have done if he knew she was suffering?”

“We _can’t_ make that call, Sayoko. It’s not _up_ to us—“

“If you have any doubts at all, let me answer that for you: he would have done _whatever he had to_ to _stop_ that suffering, even if only for a moment,” Sayoko carries on shrewdly, bypassing his protests completely with a scowl. “ _Whatever_ he had to.”

Jeremiah feels the truth of her claim settle in the pit of his stomach.

“Besides,” Sayoko adds, “it’s not as if telling her about his actual burial site will dismantle Zero Requiem. I doubt she’ll find it farfetched that you and I—Lelouch’s most loyal supporters when he was alive—took it upon ourselves to bury his body where no one can dishonor him.”

Jeremiah _knows_ he should say no, if only out of principle.

But the longer he pauses, and the longer the silence between them reigns, the more clearly he can hear the song of Nunnally’s despair.

And, well—how can he say _no_ to that?

“Okay,” he breathes. He can’t even bring himself to regret it. “Okay.”

Sayoko’s body slackens with relief, and she flashes him a small, grateful smile. The sincerity of it stuns him for a moment, though it shouldn’t; Sayoko has always cared deeply about her charges, after all.

“Thank you,” Sayoko whispers.

Jeremiah, slowly, smiles back.

:::

Unsurprisingly, Nunnally cries when they tell her. She buries her face in her hands and _weeps._

Sayoko flinches physically. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, an unspoken plea. “I’m so, so sorry, Lady Nunnally.”

“Please,”—Nunnally’s voice is choked, broken, _wretched_ —“take me to his grave.”

Jeremiah hears the raw emotion in Nunnally’s voice and pretends his heart isn’t breaking right along with hers.

Sayoko doesn’t bother pretending. She knows it’d be useless to even _try_ to act like her world doesn’t hinge on the vi Britannia siblings—one dead to the world, one lost to herself.

“Okay,” Sayoko whispers. “Whatever you desire, Your Highness.”

Nunnally lifts her head from her hands. When she looks up at them, her eyes are red and wet with tears. “Now,” she rasps. “I want to go _now,_ Sayoko.” She pauses, directs her gaze at Jeremiah then, and adds, “Please.”

Jeremiah splutters. “My lady—“

Nunnally shakes her head vehemently, accurately predicting his oncoming protest. “The party can wait for me,” she tells him. “I _am_ the empress, after all. They’ll _have_ to wait for me.”

Jeremiah blinks and falls silent, struck by her confidence. In front of him, Sayoko lowers herself to her knees and bows obediently. “Your wish is our command, Your Highness,” Sayoko breathes helplessly.

Jeremiah can do nothing but watch them quietly, a small, bittersweet smile twisting on his face.

_“They’ll have to wait for me.”_

She’s never sounded more like her brother.

:::

The Demon Emperor’s grave is an empty coffin buried beneath a towering monument of the man himself carved out of gold. King Lelouch vi Britannia’s grave is entirely different.

The king’s grave is small and nondescript, hidden behind a scattering of large oak trees. Conveniently placed bushes and benches help to further cover the grave from view.

The only thing that marks the grave as the king’s, as _her_ _brother’s,_ is the wooden plaque fixed to a short post standing beside it.

Nunnally feels the weight of his death slam down onto her shoulders for the umpteenth time, and lets her pointer finger gather dust as it brushes across the surface of Lelouch vi Britannia’s plaque.

LELOUCH VI BRITANNIA

1999 - 2018

~*~

_“To defeat evil, I must become a greater evil.”_

_— Our great Emperor._

“God,” Nunnally chokes on a sob, devolving into hysteria. “Lelouch. _Lelouch._ I can’t – I can’t _do_ this without you. I don’t know _how_... Please, _please,_ I need – Lelouch –“

No one answers her.

Nunnally sinks deep into her wheelchair, feels thick with shame at the relief she feels for the physical support, and cries.

For hours, Nunnally vi Britannia loses herself in her grief.

:::

Sayoko and Jeremiah have the decency to wait until the last second to approach Nunnally. Sayoko hates disrupting Nunnally’s private mourning, but the ball is fast approaching.

“My lady,” Sayoko whispers, bending down and carefully putting a hand on Nunnally’s shoulder. Sayoko flinches when Nunnally doesn’t even react; the only sign she gets that Nunnally even hears her is the tension that makes her spine stiffen under Sayoko’s touch.

“Lelouch, he...” Sayoko breaks off in a moment of weakness, blinking back tears. She’s supposed to be stronger than this—she’s supposed to be _strong_ —but she doesn’t know how _anyone_ can stand firm in the face of a tragedy like this.

Lelouch was never supposed to go like this. _He’s just—he’s just a_ kid, _god,_ Sayoko thinks dazedly, a prayer that will never be answered; a prayer that _can’t_ be answered. _He was a kid who had so much to live for, who had an entire future ahead of him, and—_

He was never supposed to go like this.

“Lelouch loved you so much, Nunnally. You know that, right?” Sayoko says it like a plea, the formality required by Nunnally’s station missing her completely as she forgets herself. She forgets everything but Lelouch, and the bitter resignation that fleeted across his face when he confessed his plan. _Peace should never require an seventeen-year-old boy to micromanage his own death,_ she thinks. “I don’t think there‘s anyone in the world who he loved more than you.”

Nunnally folds in on herself, so sure she looks like the embodiment of _broken_. She certainly feels broken, she thinks. “There isn’t anyone or anything else that I love more than him, either,” she whispers.

Sayoko inhales sharply, squeezing her eyes shut. It doesn’t work; her tears slip out anyway, spilling over her cheeks and burning her eyes in a way that has nothing to do with pain.

The day the Demon Emperor died, Sayoko woke up knowing that Lelouch was living his final hours on Earth. She’d gone through the day in a haze of disbelief, the thought _Lelouch is going to die Lelouch is going to die Lelouch is going to die_ suffocating her as time ticked away.

Nunnally hadn’t known.

Nunnally had _been there._

Sayoko wonders what it feels like to hold your whole world in your arms and feel it slip away. She tries to picture it, but everything she can imagine falls short.

It’s impossible. She doesn’t know how Nunnally does it. Even now, having known it ahead of time, having thoroughly debated the plan with a determined Lelouch ( _Lelouch, please. How can you even—how can you ask me to stand back and watch you die? I don’t want to – I can’t do it. There has to be another way_ ), Sayoko feels like she can barely breathe.

Sayoko looks up at Nunnally, red-eyed and wrecked, and thinks that Nunnally looks even worse than Sayoko feels.

“I’m sorry,” Sayoko says, _weeps_ , and she means it. God, she means it. Nunnally doesn’t deserve this.

_Neither_ of the Lamperouge children (they will always, _always_ be Lamperouges to her, no matter what the world is calling them nowadays) deserve this.

Nunnally looks away. “I’m sorry, too.” _I’m sorry I wasn’t a better sister. I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t let me in, Lelouch._

_I’m just sorry._

“Take me back to the palace,” Nunnally says, because she can’t call that place ‘home.’

It will never be home to her.

(Home was Lelouch vi Britannia.)

(Home was folding paper cranes with her brother, knowing her wish was always going to be to stay with him forever.)

(Home was listening to Lelouch joke around with C.C. and Sayoko as he played their mother’s favorite song on the piano.)

(Home was laughing with Lelouch by the fireplace, hearing and feeling his joy even if she couldn’t see it.)

(Her home is gone forever to her.)

“Yes, of course,” Sayoko breathes, and Nunnally feels her loss all over again. She pauses, remembers herself, and tacks on a hushed _Your Highness_ with a bow.

Before her reintroduction to royalty, Sayoko had stopped being so formal with her. (Lelouch had put his foot down one night and demanded that Sayoko start treating them like family, not like strangers who owned her.)

Now, Sayoko’s gone back to acknowledging Nunnally’s royal blood with their every interaction, and Nunnally _hates_ it.

She doesn’t want to be queen. She doesn’t want Sayoko to obey her every whim with a dutiful ‘Yes, Your Highness.’

She wants Sayoko to laugh at her, light and free and comfortable, and say, ‘You know your brother would have my head if I let you eat that, Nunnally.’

But without Lelouch, everything is different.

Nunnally misses him like she’s lost a part of herself. In a way, she has.

:::

By the time they arrive at the palace, Nunnally’s hands are shaking and her voice is thin, _desperate_.

“I _can’t do this_ ,” she whispers, but Sayoko and Jeremiah know it’s not for them. “I need you.”

They’re the only ones in the car, but it only takes one look at the rearview mirror to confirm that Nunnally is speaking to her brother.

“Lelouch,” Nunnally whimpers, and her voice carries with it a silent prayer in the syllables of his name. It’s all she says, but it’s the saddest thing Sayoko and Jeremiah have ever heard.

Nunnally lifts a trembling hand to her mouth like she wants to throw up.

Neither of them mention it.

:::

It’s thirty seconds to her entrance into the ball when the reality of her situation comes crashing down on her.

Nunnally’s wheelchair jerks to a stuttered stop right in front of the double doors. Even through the thick mahogany wood, Nunnally can hear the noise and bustle of the party; she can hear everyone’s high spirits.

She listens to the nobles’ laughter with a heavy heart.

_All the world’s a stage, right, Lelouch?_

Nunnally doesn’t bother trying to blink back her tears. It feels like her whole body is gripped with the pain of losing her older brother (her everything, _God,_ he was once her everything).

“Nunna,” Cornelia urges. “They’re waiting for us.”

Nunnally lets herself have just one more second.

Just _one,_ to mourn.

The second passes, and Nunnally raises her face. She smiles up at her elder sister. The smile tastes like a lie, bitter and hateful, but she pushes the thought away.

“I’m ready,” she exhales.

She isn’t. She doubts she will ever be truly ready for this, but... _but_. No one cares about how Nunnally vi Britannia loved her brother.

She hears Cornelia’s own smile carry up her voice. “Good,” Cornelia says. “I believe you.”

Nunnally takes in a deep breath and begins to roll herself forward, into the future.

_…And all the men and women merely players._

:::

Nunnally doesn’t want to have to lie. She doesn’t want to drag her brother’s name through the mud, to besmirch his reputation even more than his own actions already did.

To everyone else in this room, and everyone watching the live broadcast from the safety of their homes (Nunnally thinks they must be lucky to still be able to find safety in their homes; she no longer can), her brother was the Demon Emperor and the Demon Emperor only.

And the Demon Emperor had too many faults to count. The Demon Emperor was a monster who caused the death of hundreds with a flick of his wrist and a smile. And by the time the dust settled, and the body count stopped rising, he‘d finished spilling enough blood to fill a river stretching miles on end.

Nobody knows that was all a lie. Nobody knows the Demon Emperor was only a mask Lelouch wore to save them all.

Nobody knows that his rule was, in fact, a bloodless one.

Nunnally doesn’t know it either, not really. But what she does know is that her brother loved her. And she knows he died for her, for all of his people. She knows he cared more than he made it seem like he did.

She knows enough.

(She knows _him._ )

Because Nunnally doesn’t see the portrait of Lelouch vi Britnannia and think of the Demon Emperor. She sees his image and thinks of the boy hiding behind it all.

She thinks of the Lelouch vi Britannia who laid down in the gardens outside and pointed out constellations to his six-year-old sister even though the grass irritated his skin. She thinks of the Lelouch vi Britannia who sat in the blistering sun all morning just because she begged him to weave her a flower wreath.

She thinks of the Lelouch vi Britannia who stayed camped at her bedside as she recovered from the attack on their home. She thinks of the Lelouch vi Britannia who held her hand as she cried after she heard the news of their mother’s death. She thinks of the Lelouch vi Britannia who regaled her with stories and sang her lullabies when she couldn’t sleep.

She thinks of the Lelouch vi Britannia who promised her everything would be okay hours before he marched into their father’s throne room, stared the almighty king in the eyes, and demanded _justice_ , already so strong and proud and brave even at only ten years old.

She thinks of the Lelouch vi Britannia who smiled at her like she was his universe.

She thinks, _He was too good for us,_ even when she knows everyone else believes, _He was the worst kind of monster to have ever lived._

And it frustrates her _so much_. She wants to be six years old again, throwing a tantrum so people will pay attention to her, so they will actually _listen_ to her.

She wants to open their eyes. More than anything, she wishes she could make them see what she sees.

But she can’t, and she _hates_ that she can’t. (She hates that no one would believe her.)

Even more, she hates that this can’t be about Lelouch—when, in reality, _everything_ in her life is about him. She hates that she can’t just open her mouth and let the truth run free.

_He was a great man,_ she wants to tell Britannia, and the whole world. _Even more than that, he was a_ good _man._

But she sees the way Cornelia nods at her expectantly; she sees Jeremiah’s solemn, knowing expression; and she sees the silent tear that sneaks out of the corner of Sayoko’s left eye.

And she knows, she _knows_ , she can’t say _any_ of that.

Instead, she reaches out to Sayoko with her right hand, clutching desperately when Sayoko grasps it in her own, and takes in a deep breath.

_The world may not know it, but I do: you were our salvation, big brother._

“Good evening, Britannians and foreigners alike,” Nunnally speaks into the microphone. “I am Nunnally vi Britannia, the 100th Empress of the Holy Britannian Empire. As your new queen, and as the successor of the tyrannical Demon Emperor, I hope to make up for my brother’s sins and do you all justice.”

The crowds begin to cheer. Sayoko’s firm grip falters in her hand, and Nunnally feels her heart break in her chest.

This is wrong. This is so, _so_ wrong.

(But they don’t care about that. They don’t care about anything but their own distorted reality.)

“Thank you,” Nunnally finishes with a smile that feels as fraudulent as her title. She doesn’t deserve to be empress.

She doesn’t deserve to sit upon this throne— _Lelouch’s_ throne—while she demeans her own brother, who’s only ever looked out for her.

But her brother is gone. And in his place, it’s up to her to lead their people to freedom, to peace.

(Undeserving or not, she’s their guiding hand now.)

_I hope to do you proud—_ Nunnally smiles sadly, in the way people do when they’re trying not to let the tears spill over— _Your Majesty._

In her eyes, he would always be king. (The rightful ruler.)

:::

Here lies King vi Britannia, a wise emperor wronged by his own lies.

_\+ 1._

Here lies L.L., the warlock.

That is all his plaque says, this time. Nothing more, nothing less.

In the direct aftermath of his death, C.C. remembers little. Sometimes she is coherent, but other times she is unable to do anything but sleep, dreaming of a life that always slips out of reach.

Mostly, she walks around in a daze, in a maelstrom of memories and dreams. In a blur of what-used-to-be and what-now-is, of _then_ and _now_ , of _b_ _efore_ and _after_ :

Before: Lelouch, waking up to her screaming at 3:00 AM in the morning, stumbling out of bed and boiling her a cup of hot chocolate without protest.

After: C.C., gasping awake, hand flying to her chest, feeling the fast-paced beat of her thundering heart as the memory of Lelouch haunts her still. No one is around to comfort her after her nightmares now.

Before: _“I don’t understand. If not a shield, what do you want me to be?”_

After: Suzaku features in her dreams often. It’s strange—it has been many centuries since Suzaku’s passing, but their final confrontation still makes her tremble. It’s worse now that Lelouch has died for the last time. _“You were supposed to be his shield, C.C.!” In her dreams, Suzaku is always red-faced and screaming until his voice is hoarse and his chest is heaving. He is already old and graying, his youth and strength having slowly chipped away with age. Though no longer the fit superhuman he used to epitomize, there is still a tangible fierceness in his eyes when he glares at her. “Why did you let me kill him?”_

Before: Everyone wanted her for something. V.V. had wanted her for her experience, Charles for her intelligence, Marianne for her Geass, Mao for her love, Clovis for her powers.

After: _“I trusted you to save him. Why didn’t you?”_ Truthfully, they are more nightmares than dreams.

Before: Lelouch is the only one who thinks to give her a choice. _“What do I want from you? C.C., I just want you to be yourself.”_

After: _“I don’t know, Kururugi.” Her voice is tired and defeated, sad. Lost. “I don’t know. I failed.”_ Suzaku Kururugi is no longer around for her to fail him, but it doesn’t matter, because she’s failed _herself_. That much, she knows, is no nightmare: it is the truth.

Before: Lelouch, grasping the mask of Zero between them, eyes fixated on a black king piece standing tall and proud in the center of a mostly-empty chess board. The only other piece present is the black queen, not guarding her king but simply standing beside him, as an equal. “You are my queen, C.C.—you could never let me down.”

After: C.C., standing in the middle of the orange farm that was never really hers at all, hair blowing in the wind. “I’m all alone,” she says, not sure to who. No one answers.

Before: Lelouch, eyes twinkling a smile at her in the glow of the moonlight, one arm outstretched towards her. “It’s just the two of us, now.” His palm is facing her, open, inviting.

After: “He’s really dead this time, isn’t he?” Nunnally whispered that fateful day, quiet as a feather falling in a soft breeze, her delicate fingers clutching onto an intricate paper crane. Today, C.C. gazes down upon the image of Empress Nunnally vi Britannia as she is immortalized in the history books, generous and compassionate and perfect. And C.C. finally answers her question, over a millennia overdue— _Yes. He really is._

Before: A warm hand enclosing her fist, a kiss under the stars, a promise to live together for all of eternity.

After: “I’m sorry, Lelouch. I couldn’t save you.”

Before: Hands in her hair, cradling her neck gently. Kisses on her forehead, lulling her to sleep.

After: Waking up in an otherwise empty bed, sheets all hogged to her side. Lelouch’s side is painfully bare.

Before: “I’ll be your warlock.”

After: _Who’ll be my warlock now? No one could ever match up to you._

Before: Lelouch smiles quietly and tells her, “I love you, C.C., and I know you love me, too, no matter how much the immortal in you tries to deny it,” and it drowns out Charles’s words from so long ago—“As if a witch like you could ever feel anything in that stone-cold heart of yours.”

After: _I will never love again._

Before: “It’s you and me against the world, C.C.,” Lelouch laughs, victorious and _free_ , and she thinks everything will be okay. Eventually.

After: Nothing will ever be okay again.

Before: “‘Til the end of time, C.C.,” he swears. She says nothing in response, but he kisses her gently and they both know she thinks it in her head: _‘Til the end of time, Lelouch._

After: Their time has run out. The race is over, and she’s lost it. She’s lost everything.

Before: Lelouch, groaning at the sight of a new passport on his desk. “Another ID? Already?” he complains. “At least make me older than twenty this time around. I’m tired of school.”

After: If only all she has to worry about is adjusting to a new identity.

Before: “This is our life now. Like it or not,” she says, and it comes out harsher than she intended. Lelouch looks up at her, contemplative, and he smiles that secret smile of his he reserves only for her. The protest dies on his tongue, and all he answers is, “I do. I like it a lot.”

After: C.C. gazes up at the same constellations Lelouch did once upon a time, and she wonders if he‘s floating among them now, twinkling bright enough to be seen from the Earth. For the briefest of split-seconds, she thinks she sees him—but then again, she sees him everywhere now.

Before: “Our world is so beautiful,” his voice is hushed, reverent, awed. C.C. follows his stare to the setting sun, and for the first time since the nun’s betrayal stole all the joy from her life, she smiles privately and finds herself agreeing. _He_ makes the world beautiful.

After: Sometimes, C.C. dreams of the World of C. Sometimes, the Collective deigns to talk to her, their oldest Code-bearer. _Do you still hear him?_ they ask. C.C. always wakes up before she can say anything, but the answer stays with her anyway, building in her throat and lingering on her tongue: _Every second._

Before: C.C. can fall asleep anywhere—when Lelouch first found out that particular trait, he fell over laughing and said she was just like a cat. But there is a difference, she thinks, between unconsciousness and rest. See, what Lelouch doesn’t know is that sleep only comes _peacefully_ when she has him at her side.

After: _“He’s dead, and you’re still here. Why?”_

Before: “I will never leave you, C.C.,” he swears, and she believes it. She knows it’s stupid—she _knows_ he can’t keep a promise like that—but _still_ she believes it. She believes _him_.

After: Once, after thirty years with Lelouch, thirty years spent living and laughing and loving, C.C. braved the idea of paying the reigning empress a visit. She regretted it the second she stepped foot into Nunnally’s private chambers, because there the queen sat, paralyzed as ever, a miserable smile on her face. “I miss him, C.C.,” Nunnally sobbed into the fabric of Lelouch’s favorite hoodie. C.C. thought of the way Lelouch’s arms had felt wrapped around her waist only hours ago, and she closed her eyes and looked away. _He misses you, too, Nunnally,_ the thought blared across her mind, loudly and defiantly, but... _but_. She hadn’t said a word—she hadn’t dared to. Now, the memory of her silence haunts her.

Before: “I’ll be back before you know it,” he winks at her. “You won’t even miss me—probably won’t even notice I’m gone, I promise.”

After: She notices. God, she notices. ( _I miss him, too, Nunnally. More than anything._ )

Before: “We won. _We did it_ , C.C., we’re alive!” Together, they learn how to be survivors.

After: _“You are the most selfish person I have ever met.”_ Between them, she’s the last one left standing, but she doesn’t feel alive. She doesn’t feel much of anything, these days.

Before: They make mistakes, a lot of them. But then again, everyone does.

After: _Suzaku gazes coldly at C.C., a thunderstorm in his eyes, and declares, “I would have died for him.”_ C.C. wakes up with a scream, and wonders if there will ever come a time where she stops dreaming of how she failed Lelouch.

Before: C.C. already _had_ died for Lelouch. (More than once.)

After: The world doesn’t stop for Lelouch vi Britannia, but it might as well. To C.C., it does. _Her_ world stops.

Before: C.C. sets a bouquet of flowers down on Marianne vi Britannia’s headstone. There are no tears in her eyes, but there is no happiness either, no satisfaction. “I can’t forgive you, Marianne. I can’t overlook the fact that you chose Charles over everyone else—your children, your family, your people. But... I know what it’s like, now, to have someone you’d throw everything away for,” she smiles then, eyes bright like she has stopped existing and started living, and Lelouch’s hand squeezes hers.

After: C.C. is an immortal. She’s experienced death at every turn in the long and winding path that is her eighteen—nearly nineteen—hundred years of existence. But standing atop Lelouch’s grave, feeling the weight of his tragedy drop down on her shoulders, she feels like a little girl again, thirteen years old and facing her first loss.

Before: “Do you believe in God, C.C.?”

After: C.C. has prayed only twice in her life. The first was upon the day of the Demon Emperor’s ‘death’, before she found out Charles had unintentionally imparted his Code on his son.

Before: “God doesn’t exist, Lelouch,” she says without hesitation. The conviction in her voice is fierce and absolute. “But if He does, then He must be cruel.”

After: The second time C.C. prays, it is as she kneels by the foot of Lelouch’s final resting place, eyes closed even as her tears still escape and spill over her cheeks.

Before: “You’re a survivor, C.C.,” he whispers into the silence. “I’m so proud of you.”

After: _You were wrong._ His blood clings to her fingernails, soaking into her skin. The memory of his dying smile is forever imprinted in her mind. _I’m not a survivor. I can’t live if living is without you._

Before: Lelouch’s favorite fruits were strawberries. (Actually, they used to be oranges, but C.C. ordered a strawberry milkshake on their first date, and he never looked at another fruit after that. He never looked at another woman, either.)

After: _I’m sorry,_ she cries, _I only wanted to protect you. I love you._

Before: C.C. had only ever had one wish: to die. She never planned for Lelouch vi Britannia.

After: Lelouch vi Britannia was the best thing to ever happen to her, unplanned or not. It hurts her to even think of him nowadays, but that still remains true.

Before: “ _Cera_ ,” his voice is soft and uncertain the first time he breathes her real name, but it’s still the sweetest thing she’s ever heard. For the first time in centuries, her immortality isn’t the only thing keeping her alive.

After: “Cera,” he chokes out, voice stuttering in pain, hands clutching at the bleeding wound carving a hole into his lungs. “ _Cera._ ” C.C. stumbles closer to him and collapses to her hands and knees, trying desperately to save him with her touch. His chest stills beneath her shaking hands, and C.C. screams, because that’s all she has left.

Before: The first time Lelouch comes back from the dead, a stunned look on his face, C.C. cries for hours. When her tears finally dry, she smiles, takes his face into her hands, and kisses him. In the privacy of her mind, she promises them an eternity.

After: Even with the immortality granted to them both by the Code, they don’t have an eternity. Over a millennia later, long after C.C. finally let herself believe in her own happiness, fate steals him from her again, this time in the form of the vengeful descendant of Mao, insanity in his eyes and his ancestor’s journal clutched in his hands.

Before: C.C. looks at Lelouch vi Britannia and sees someone who means the world to her.

After: C.C. looks down at Lelouch vi Britannia’s grave and sees someone who meant the world to her.

:::

Here lies L.L., the warlock. _Hers._

There is nothing else written on his plaque, because there is nothing left to say.

There are no words, after all. Not for this.

_fin._


End file.
